


Next of Kin

by lightningwaltz



Category: Messiah Project - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4747628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mamoru decides to play along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next of Kin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Celtic_Knot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Knot/gifts).



> Written for the prompt “just once.”

Against all logic, Mamoru enjoys pushing Kaito’s wheelchair. He’s tempted to shove it hard, like they’re kids on swings. Even so, he walks as fast as he can, and it must be fun because his friend stops complaining that his injuries aren’t debilitating. That he can walk. That he’s fine. Instead Kaito laughs as they glide. As they nearly fly. Mamoru doesn’t realize he’s smiling for real until his face starts to hurt.

The moment they exit the pristine hospital, they’re enveloped in humid summer air. It’s drizzling just a little bit; the kind of rain that seems to bypass one’s skin, pattering across the concrete, and unlocking the scent of petrichor. The sensation invokes forests and seaweed, even though the closest green thing is a well-behaved patch of grass.

When they get to Mamoru’s car, Kaito stands up at once. His shoulders take on a familiar haughty angle, and Mamoru rejoices to see it even it had annoyed the shit out of him in the past. Kaito hasn’t been eating well lately. Mamoru doesn’t have to ask to know. Kaito’s features are increasingly gaunt and aquiline. He seems unwell, without looking sick, and the affect must be uncanny to strangers. Even the nurses had seemed happy to have him gone.

And yet here they were, laughing harder, their bangs starting to stick to their foreheads.

“Wow, we made it a couple meters without me dying.”

That sobers Mamoru, just enough.

“Yeah, yeah. Get in the car.”

He still remembers why they’re leaving this place. The phone call, the message that Kaito had cut himself and had ended up in the hospital for blood loss. The white-knuckled trip to get here, and the way he hadn’t been sure whether to cry or laugh when he’d discovered it was all just an accident. Apparently in a sleep-deprived, delirious haze Kaito had dropped some glass bottles on the floor. They’d smashed into a constellation of glass shards and opened up one of Kaito’s veins (though not an artery, thankfully.) After investigating the matter, Mamoru found that Kaito’s computer logs bore out the story. They painted a picture of his friend staying awake for almost a week, probably with his shoulders hunched zombie-like over a computer, sunlight gathering and then fading from his curtains. Day after night after day after night.

A small static world that dissipated when pain intruded.

Mamoru isn't sure where he was during all this. How he never thought to check in. 

Kaito gets into the passenger seat, and tries to hide a wince of pain, after putting pressure on his bad foot. But his face reflects in the mirror-view mirror, and Mamoru inexplicably regrets (not for the first time) that he arrived too late to give his blood to Kaito.

“So, why did you tell them I’m your next of kin?” Mamoru asks. Kaito still has some living relatives, after all.

“My parents are… Yeah. That just wouldn’t be a good idea.” Kaito’s chewing at his lip, and then his eyes widen. “Did you get in trouble at work for leaving?”

“What? No, nothing like that.” Mamoru decides to turn on the windshield wipers, and they wail across the glass. “I was just curious.”

“And I couldn’t list Haruto. So.”

It’s not anything Mamoru wants or expects to hear while operating a motor vehicle. The only thing that keeps him from screaming is Kaito's voice. The further they get from Haruto's death, the quieter he has become. It means that entire sentences can whisper through Mamoru's brain until the meaning settles and takes root. 

At this point, hearing that name is similar to hear the vilest curse word during a solemn, sacred ceremony. It shouldn’t be the case, but Kaito hasn’t spoken of his brother since the funeral, and Mamoru has followed the lead.

“Yeah,” he agrees, aiming for a tone somewhere between curious and gentle. Maybe this is a good sign. "I think I get what you mean."

“I mean, I have to be a good example even though we’re both grown, right? I was so stupid to let this happen to me. I just don’t want him to know.”

_He’s acting like Haruto is still alive._

For several long moments, Mamoru can’t feel his feet or toes. The sweat on his temples slides as cold as melting ice.

 _Kaito hasn’t slept for five days._ This thought echoes over and over, until Mamoru's lips move. Until they nearly speak the reminder aloud. _That can effect you as bad as getting blackout drunk. He’d slept some at the hospital, but probably not enough to make up for it yet._

_He’ll forget tomorrow._

And maybe, just this once, it would be nice clawing this way back to a world where Haruto still lived.

“I can see what you mean,” he says. For a little while, Mamoru gives in. For a little while he’ll return to a happier time. “He probably shouldn’t know.”

“Right? I’m glad you agree.”


End file.
